Cirith Ungol
by smaugs-mommy
Summary: before you die you see the ring - A lord of the Rings rhe Ring crossover featuring Frodo, Sam and...Her...
1. Default Chapter

**Cirith Ungol **

Summary: before you die you see the ring.

Morlhossiel is a human girl who dies under the orcs' gruesome torture ( ordoesn't she?).  
This is another version of what might have happened to Frodo in Cirith Ungol.   
I made him stay there a little bit longer. Seven days, to be precise.

**Morlhossiel – she whispers in the dark **

AN :What if Hobbit Lily Baggins and I decided to meet?  
What if we watched The Ring?  
What if we were absolutely obsessed with both Frodo and The Ring?  
What if they had wells in Cirith Ungol?  
Thanks again, dear Lily. ( Bohnen in Mordor :p)

Rated: PG 13, R in later chapters just to be sure.no slash, no rape.

***

It took only one little girl to change the destiny of a whole village.

If it had not been for the pale child with the long black hair, things would have been different. 

Nobody knew where she came from. One cold winter's morning she was just there, a thin girl standing in the middle of the road and staring at the sky. She had been on bare feet and it was a wonder that the bitter cold had not killed her. 

People gathered around her, asking her where she lived and where she was heading, but the girl did not know either. All she knew was her name Morlhossiel'.

And although that name had a rather dark meaning, the inhabitants of the village liked it, for it sounded elvish and so different from all their other names.

The people did not know what to do with the strange little girl. Sending her away seemed to be impossible for she did not know her parents or any other relatives. She came from everywhere, as she said, and was going nowhere.

Eventually it was decided that Morlhossiel should live in the village until she was old enough to look after herself well. 

A mother who had lost her child when it was at about Morlhossiel's age promised to look after her and Morlhossiel soon called her mother'.

So life went on and yet it did not.

More and more people died from severe diseases and this was only the beginning. The children born within the next years either did not survive the first few weeks or they were born with three eyes , one of those blind and ugly, or no eyes at all.

But somehow the people managed to restrain some form of happiness.

They were glad to watch the sunrise over the far away mountains.

They danced when the crop was good and rich.

And none of them ever had the idea that the black haired girl might have something to do with the change of the village.

The girl herself did not feel guilty either, for she had not seen the village in better days, she had not seen any village before that one and to her everything seemed to be perfectly normal.

***

Morlhossiel was very unlike the other children. She did not look like them, in the first place. Her eyes and hair were black, while the other children had blond hair and greyish or blue eyes.

She never played and she seldom talked. And on the rare occasion that she was speaking she sounded more like an adult then a ten-year-old girl.

Yet there was a time when she would not stop talking. When twilight crept into the houses, when the stars grew dim in dark nights, then she would not stop whispering. She did not seem to sleep at all and her murmurs soon made their way into the minds of the villagers.

She would not stop.

She would never stop.

Still, none of the villagers knew that it was her, who was whispering them all, one by one, into insanity. 

The girl never slept and dark circles were lying under her darkening eyes.

***

Morlhossiel was thirteen when she had to leave the village.

At that time her outer appearance was still that of a child. In the last three years she had not grown or put on weight. She had remained exactly the same. 

***

The day she was sent away very much resembled the one on which she had arrived.

It was a cold morning, the grass was stiff with cold and icicles had formed on most windows.

It was also a very silent morning, the girl's whisperings had stopped and the noises of the day had not yet started.

All the village – except for Morlhossiel – was still asleep, lost in more or less comforting dreams.

The silence however, was interrupted by the sound of thundering hoofs and a strangled scream.

Doors and windows opened, people were going out to see what had happened, to help. About half of them came to die, but of course they did not know yet.

An old, grey-haired lady was standing in the middle of the road. It was her who had been screaming. She was pointing at a young man in front of her. He was riding a tall black horse, his face was a bloody mess and an arrow was sticking out of his right shoulder. He held a girl in his arms. She was very pale and very still. They were no wounds on her body, but her unblinking, grey eyes told everyone, that she was not alive any more.

Blood was trickling from the young man's ears. They are coming he breathed.

They.

Everybody knew whom he was talking about.

There had been rumours about orcs which were attacking the smaller, unprotected villages. Orcs, which burnt down fields and houses. And who killed the ones , who had not left the village in time.

The young man swayed in his saddle. run away! his voice was braking.

And then he fell and his body hit the ground with an ugly _thud_. 

Morlhossiel's mother gave a small cry. Were they coming to claim the one she loved? 

She could not see the child and called out for her.

The girl, combing her hair with her fingers , rushed to her mothers side immediately. Her lips trembled and fear dimmed her huge black eyes. Who is he? she asked, her voice shaking anxiously. The black horse touched his master's face with his lips, trying to wake him up. 

Morlhossiel wanted to touch the poor animal, wanted to comfort it, but the mere thought was enough to frighten the horse. Its eyes widened and it screeched .The young woman fell too, rolled over the ground and came to rest right in front of Morlhossiel's feet. The girl screamed and stepped back. 

The horse panicked and tried to get away . One of its legs got caught in a hole in the ground. There was a sound like that of a braking branch and the horse screeched again. While everybody now left the two dead adolescents and headed for the wounded horse, Morlhossiel turned around and ran away, into the house. Her mother saw her and followed.

the girl was lying under the table, pressing her face to the ground, too scared to move. Now she looked like a very vulnerable, fragile being, and it was impossible to imagine, that it was her and only her who had brought destruction upon the whole village.

The mother waited until the girl stood up. She then took her daughter by her shoulders , and started to speak.

You must leave her voice was shaking Run as fast as you can, do not look back. Morlhossiel sobbed Where shall I go? Where will I be safe ? Tears were now streaming down her ashen face. I do not want to go without you she wept. 

her mother's patience was growing thin now

Morlhossiel gasped and her eyes grew larger.

She was staring out of he window.

Smoke was rising in the distance.

They were coming.   
  



	2. Captured

Cirith Ungol

Rated R for lots of violence and the brutal killing of an innocent horse. 

Disclaimer: same

AN:

All those waiting for Frodo and Sam will have to wait a little bit longer. They will be in the story soon– but not yet.

Lily –good luck with your exams and thank you again.

Chapter two: Captured 

The black horse was still stretched out on the floor, one of its legs caught in a hole in the ground, the other three yanking helplessly. When it sensed Morlhossiel coming it tried to get up but only sank deeper into the hole. The sharp stones scratched its skin deeply; the white bones formed an ugly contrast to the black fur. The huge dark eyes rolled back in their sockets, the lips were pulled up and the horse seemed to be grinning. 

Morlhossiel covered her face with her slim hands for she was afraid of what would happen next as she was already seeing it. She rubbed at her eyes and tried to chase away the hideous pictures. But it was in vain. The horse had gotten to its legs and was now pulling hard to free the last one. All the time it was screeching and _grinning _and the eyes never stopped rolling. Blood was now trickling from the velvety nostrils; blood and something thicker and darker.

One farmer lifted a huge fork, planning to break the horse's neck. But it was in that very moment that the horse managed to pull out the last leg. The fork missed its aim by inches and the farmer fell forward. He never got up again. The black horse smashed the farmer's head and then it galloped away, the last leg dangling like a superfluous burden. 

The horse made its way towards the east of the village, were the ground was hard and unfertile. 

In the middle of that last, hostile piece of land there was a broad crack in the earth, about a mile in length and broad enough for the cattle to fall into the cliff. It was very deep, one could not see were it ended and nobody had ever climbed all the way down (some of the older people even said that one could climb on for eternity without ever finding the ground). Yet sometimes the youngsters dared to dismount the first meters. They said they could hear water rushing in the deep. Some of them returned mute, while others explained that there was no water rushing at all, but a female voice calling for them, begging them to let go and to come to her, for she was all alone…

In the last years the villagers had lost many of their blind and half-blind children. When those children learned how to walk they would stop to sleep at night. Instead of sleeping they would sit in their little beds, weeping or staring blankly into the night. At some point they would get up and start walking away. Some of them vanished and were never seen again, others had been rescued only seconds before falling into the abyss, but those would try to escape again. The villagers had built a fence, in a desperate try to save their children.

Now the terrifying horse had reached the cliff and was about to jump over the fence. But it was too weak and collapsed against the wood. A group of villagers had been following the horse, lead by the death farmer's wife. She had been beautiful once, only hours ago. But now rage and hate had turned her face to an atrocious mask. 

"Kill it" she screamed over and over again. "Kill the beast". 

Nobody realized that she sounded like the screeching horse herself. 

The horse threw itself against the fence, splinters of wood were falling into the abyss and then the fence itself followed. The horse, still grinning like a skull, looked at the farmer's wife and it seemed to curse her. Then it went to do what seemed to be best: it cast itself into the crack, for it was very frightened and saw no other way to escape the girl's whisperings.

Morlhossiel could not stop sobbing, for a bitter thought had crossed her minds. Did things happen because she _saw_ them happen? Was it her fault?

She had no answer and got none, for now everybody was either gathering around the abyss, or hiding inside, or preparing to fight against the orcs.

"I don't want to hurt anyone" she said softly, and then she ran away, her feet bare, her dark brown eyes full of fear and tears. She was wearing a white skirt again, like on the day she had been found.  

The orcs were coming from the east, Morlhossiel left towards the west, but that did not safe her...

She went as fast as she could, avoiding to look back, for she knew she would see her beloved village in flames. Some more minutes and the air would be filled with screams – those of pain and fear, but also louder ones, laughing screams of victory. The girl forced herself to run faster and left the village's borders just in time.

Behind her no human being left the village alive, the orcs killed everyone they could find; and those who were not found, because they were small enough to be hidden at unusual places did not survive the next few weeks. They were too young to look after themselves and died of dehydration and lack of food. Others were not able to get out of there secret places alone, and their small skeletons were found years later, when the shadow had finally passed and the Ring had been destroyed…

Morlhossiel's _mother_ was one of the last ones to die in the battle. She did her best to protect the village and fought in hope to rescue her daughter. 

But her daughter, Morlhossiel, was not going to be spared. The mother never learned about the girl's destiny. She thought that the girl would find a new home soon, and that was the only reason why her death was comparatively easy and peaceful.

***

When the sun was at its highest the girl reached a hill. She struggled to reach the summit, where she fell to her knees and tried to calm down. She was panting, sweat was running down her temples and she had nothing to drink with her. Although it had been a frosty morning it was warm now, probably one of the last warm days of the year. She had been running for hours now and her tongue felt like a dry little animal. The girl could hardly swallow and she decided to go on soon, but to go slower. She considered herself as quite safe now, the orcs were coming from the east and they would almost certainly stay in the village until it was dark. The orcs were afraid of the sun, every child knew that. They came in the first hours of the day, they did what they were produced to do and then they hid until darkness fell once more. And after that they went on to the next village.

Morlhossiel stood up and stretching her back she looked around. Her eyes, deep and dark as wells, widened and were then shut tightly.

_No _she thought _this is impossible. It cannot be. _

She sat down as quickly as possible, hoping that nobody had seen her. She peered through the long grass carefully, her heart seemingly pounding somewhere in her throat.

Again and again she looked.

She had been so sure.

But she had been wrong.

She would not escape from the orcs, for they were everywhere. They were in the east and in the west, all around the hill smoke was rising and whenever the wind turned it would carry along new screams and cries. 

She lay down flat on her stomach, as there were no trees on the hill and her white clothes could be seen dreadfully far.

Where to now?

She could not stay on the summit, sooner or later she would be seen and killed, or something worse.

And she was also tired and hungry, her feet were bleeding, she needed a place to rest. But where could she go? Even if the orcs did not catch her, who would take a girl who saw pictures which became reality? And she would have to tell them about the pictures, would she not?  

_"I don't want to hurt anyone"_ she had said earlier that day, and that was true.

Or was it not?

She sat up and hit her knees with small white fists. 

_Where can I go? Or should I better stay here and wait for them to find me and kill me? Perhaps that would be best. I'm dangerous. I make horses mad. I see things happen and then they are real, I'd really better be dead. _

"Go where you came from ", said a voice.

Morlhossiel, completely forgetting her fear about being discovered jumped up.

"Who's there?" she asked sharply. The voice had been that of a girl; very much like her own, to be honest.

"Who's there?" she repeated, turning around, searching for the one who had been speaking. For a brief moment she thought she was casting two shadows, but that must have been a trick her tired eyes had been playing on her.

"I don't know where I came from", she sank back to the ground. "I really do not know"

"Oh yes you do" the voice was there again, and Morlhossiel was almost sure, that She had been speaking to her before. "Think hard", She said and was gone.

Morlhossiel thought hard, without wanting to do so. And when the first pictures emerged from the smooth darkness of her memories the girl ran away blindly. The dry grass burned and faded and crumbled under her steps. 

It was not hard for the orcs to find her now. All they had to do was to follow the trail of burned vegetation.

Still, it was sunset when they finally caught her. 

Morlhossiel could hear them long before they reached her and she had enough time to hide behind a hedge with red leafs. The sun went down and the leaves first looked as if they were soaked with blood, and then the whole bush seemed to be burning. Night came, and the orcs followed. 

They knew somebody was there, just out of their reach, behind the bush, for they could smell Morlhossiel's fear and they liked it; they wanted to find the source of the smell, to have more of it. And they were not stupid; they knew how to get their victim.

The leading orc told the others to be quite, he wanted the frightened human to hear all of his words. 

"I know you are there" he snarled. "And we will get you sooner or later." 

The girl did not dare to breathe. The orc was laughing now, a loud and rude laugh it was. "Come out and we may have a little bit of fun with you. We will let you go home afterwards; if you can still walk when we are done with you. And if your home is more than a burning ruin right now." 

The girl bit on her lips until she tasted blood. She was not going to answer. If they wanted her they would have to come and get her. 

"All right" it sounded like a rough bark. "Stay in there, we will get you anyway."

Silence. 

Morlhossiel was waiting for a spear or a sword to cut down the bush and then her head. The orc was cackling frantically now. 

"Release her relatives" he said. A head was thrown over the hedge and landed in Morlhossiel's lap.

Her mother. She shrieked in revulsion and stared at her mother's face. It was burned and she had lost most of her teeth, but it was her mother. Another head hit the floor. She had not known him too well; he was one of the boys at about her age. A blind child's head and that of an old lady, the head's of two other young boys, a man's head and a face so small that it must have been the one of a newborn child. 

It was more than the girl could bear. Trembling, crying and covered with the villager's blood she crawled out of her hedge.

The orc backhanded her very hard as soon as she was standing in front of him. 

An arrow hit her leg and darkness claimed her before she could react.

She woke up days later when she was dragged up the cold stairs of Cirith Ungol.   


	3. Breath of Life

Summary: same

Disclaimer: same. Don't own them. Will hand them back.

Rated: R just to be sure

Warning: violence

No slash, no rape

**Breath of Life **

Her head was spinning, pounding, throbbing.

Searing pain behind her temples.

Mountains shifting before her eyes. Stars moving too fast, leaving white misty stripes in the dark sky.

Sunset. Dawn. Sunset. Dawn.

Walking, faster, running, falling.

Stairs, many stairs.

And still more stairs to come.

Her feet were bleeding, her breath coming in harsh gasps. And there were still more stairs. Still more…

Morlhossiels raven dark and once shiny hair was now clotted with sweat and blood.

She thought she had been unconscious for most of the time, but now while she was forcing herself to take another step and another, memories came back. Slowly, like water seeping through a cloth.

The young girl wiped at her cheeks. They were wet, but not with tears. She had no more tears left to cry.

One of her bare feet got caught between two stones; she fell and hit the ground.

Could not get up anymore.

She lifted her head. They had not reached the end of the stairs yet. A shadow bent over her. " Stand up!" the orc snarled, picked her up by her hair and made her stand. She swayed slightly, and fell down again, hitting her head. The orc dragged her up again. The others laughed, loud and cruelly. She stumbled forwards, a thin trace of blood trickling down from her swollen lips. Thick grey clouds hurried over the sky, never fully covering a pale moon, which glared down at her in silent mockery.

The stone steps were wet and slippery, again and again she fell, each time she was dragged up and forced to go on.

Soon her white skirt was torn and muddy. Hours passed and they seemed to be endless. Life had always consisted of running and climbing, of pain and fear. Morlhossiel could not recall anything that lay before that long march.

Still there were blurred images, but they meant nothing to her.

Long golden hair that was being combed in front of the fireside.

Warm hands caressing her brow, and a voice as warm as the hands telling her to sleep, sweet darling, sleep.

And a horse screeching in everlasting agony.

….

Looking up the girl realized that they had reached the end of the steps. She paused, trying to catch her breath. She leant against the cold stones, her white fingers too weak to support her weight. She tilted her head back to gaze up into the sky. It was dark. No moon, no stars.

She swooned once more, oblivious to the rain, which started falling in cold heavy drops. Oblivious to the cracking sound of a whip.

Oblivious to everything.

…

A flask was thrust between her teeth and a burning liquid was poured down her throat. The pain ceased; she could open her eyes. They made her drink more of the liquid, causing her to cough and sputter.

She was lying on the floor, legs sprawled, her head still aching badly. An orc was towering over her, his yellow eyes gleaming with malice.

"A human girl!" he bellowed, taking her by the chin and tilting her head up.

"What's your name?" he snarled. Her lips moved, but she did not answer. The orc backhanded her roughly, "Are you mute?" he hissed. "What were you doing, sneaking up to our mountains?" Morlhossiel moaned. "Speak, or I might cut off your tongue!" Another orc handed him a knife. A small knife not made to kill but to hurt.

The torches burnt down slowly, emitting a strange smell. Morlhossiel sat up. She did not want to know what those torches were made of. She did not want to end as one.

When she tried to speak again fits of coughing ripped through her small body. She covered her mouth with her hands and gazed at them, petrified. They were red with the blood she had brought up.

"_Please"_, she whispered, "_please"_

"She is of no use," the orc's voice was close to her ears. " Get rid of her!"

" _Please_," she muttered once more as two of them grabbed for her arms and started to drag her away.

(_You brought great evil to those who raised you. You deserve this. This and much more)_

The voice, Her voice, there it was again. The voice of madness, the whisper of desperation.

The orcs hauled her down a stair, their claws dug deep into her soft skin.

Unshed tears brimmed in her eyes. It was getting cold. Cold and wet. Her blood was warm upon her face.

…

She fell to her knees when the orcs let go of her. "Stand up," one of them snarled.

The girl looked up, but she could not see the orc who had spoken to her. Her long black hair had fallen into her face. She moaned softly, got up and swayed from one side to the other. She felt dizzy and was close to a faint once more. Her eyes dropped closed.

Her hands reached out, searching something to hold onto. Her fingers curled around an arm. She was pushed away mercilessly.

"Now open your eyes,"

Same snarling voice as before.

" You want to see this place. You will stay here for the next hundred years, so have a look at it. You'll like it." Morlhossiel's round hazel eyes opened. They had brought her to a dark dungeon. There were no windows, and no torches. Still she could see fairly well. She had always been able to see at night.

(_But some times she had seen things, which were not there. Pictures, which only seemed to exist inside of her head and yet seemed to be frighteningly real) _

The dungeon was round, there was a door on one side, a ladder leaning to the wall and some stones in the middle of the room.

(_And in the morning the pictures would be _there. _Etched to the white linen of her bed. Etched to the wall. Everywhere. Burning trees, bleeding fingers, worms and flies.)_

She frowned. The stones were a well. It was half-covered by a heavy stone plate.

"Go!"

_Crack. _

She crumbled on the floor, thinking her calves were on fire.

"To the well!"

_Crack._

She jumped up and stumbled towards the well, not thinking any more, only doing what she was told to do.

A second orc went around the dungeon, lightening the torches.

Morlhossiel squeezed her eyes shut. The light was sending hot flashes of pain through her head. Slowly she walked to well, hair falling into her face, arms hanging limply to both sides of her fragile body, feet bleeding again. She halted when she reached the well. It was built of large black stones, obviously taken from the nearby mountains. It was not very high, hardly going up to her navel, but when she bent over to look into it she could not see the ground. Filled with sudden fear she stepped back, shaking her head and forming soundless words.

She turned around to talk to the orcs; desperately hoping they would let her go home.

But she was at the mercy of merciless creatures, who did not listen and who remained unmoved by her tears.

They forced her to go back to the well and to look in once more.

They joked, they laughed. The little girl wept, not knowing what was going to happen to her. Something hard hit her between her shoulders, and then she fell.

She was on the verge of losing consciousness when she hit the water. Yet, instinctively, she turned around to lie flat on her back, hoping the water would support her for a while. It did, and thus she floated on the water's surface and drifted in and out of evil dreams.

Her vision cleared soon.

Out of cold blue eyes she saw that the well's opening was like a red-golden half circle and she knew it would not remain like this. It would soon be closed and only darkness and cold would keep her company.

The orcs were cheering and bellowed insults down to the drowning girl.

She screamed for the mother she had never had.

The orcs laughed.

The golden half circle diminished to a pale ring. Again she screamed until she felt how a warm fluid ran over her face.

Her nose was bleeding.

Somewhere in the wilderness two hobbits and a starved creature took a rest close to the slag-mounds. One of them covered his face with his hands to hide a very sudden and very heavy nosebleed from the others.

…

A new day came, a day with a grey morning. Morlhossiel did not see it.

The torches were burning low by now and the ring was getting fainter.

The water had eased her pain at first, but then it had taken her ability to scream. All she could do was to whisper, and she murmured her mother's name over and over, to no result. Even the orcs had left and her words echoed from the walls.

She was exhausted, now that her skirt was soaked through the water would not support her any longer and it was too deep to stand in there. She had let herself sink to find the ground, but she had found none. There was one large stone sticking out of the wall, big enough for her to sit on. She had reached it, but she had been too tired and too weary to hold on to the stones, and she had fallen into the water again. Morlhossiel was not sure if she had enough strength left to climb up to the stone once more.

Helpless, shivering with cold, and sobbing silently she lifted her pale eyes to the ring.

_"_Mother," she wept. " I am so alone. Help me…help me…please"

But the woman who had adopted her as a daughter was dead.

The girl swam to the other side of the well, clutched the wall and leant her head against the cold stones.

She knew she had to stay in motion, but she was tired…so tired…

Close to the Morranon a pale hobbit sank down to sit on a stone, shuddering with cold – seemingly for no reason. He managed a strained smile and bagged for a short rest.

…

Seasons had never meant much to Morlhossiel. Although they were essential to the villager's life Morlhossiel never knew if it was spring or autumn.

Now it suddenly seemed to be important.

Her mother had once told her that leafs turn red and yellow in autumn, and there had been a tree in red and yellow (_a burning tree) _on her journey.

She was confused.

A few hours ago an orc had climbed into her well, using the ladder she had seen before. He had questioned her, promising to let her go if she answered.

Although she tried her best he had left her; he had pulled the ladder up behind him and closed the well.

He had mentioned it was early spring outside.

Perhaps he had been lying to her.

Perhaps she had been walking with the orcs much longer than she thought she had.

Or maybe that tree had been a dream.

Morlhossiel had managed to drag her self up to the stone again; her feet were now just touching the water.

She was hungry, as she had not eaten for days. She had tried to drink lots of water to fool her stomach, but it tasted awful and only made the pain in her stomach grow.

Something small was moving at the opposite wall. The girl slid into the water and swam to the other side, trying not to cause too much noise.

It was a fat fly.

How it had come there, the girl did not care.

The fly was lazy and slow from the cold; Morlhossiel caught it and ate it.

In Ithilien a halfling made stew from two meagre rabbits and some herbs. Another halfling lay on the ground, resting peacefully and not noticing the ugly black fly, which crawled over his lips.

…

Morlhossiel died slowly.

It began with her not feeling cold anymore, but way to warm.

She tried to climb up the wall, and lost all her nails. The ring glowed once more, and then darkness grew above her.

It ended after the seventh day with her losing all her strength and vanishing beyond the still water's surface.

It ended with Her smiling viciously as She could hear how a sobbing person was brought into the dungeon.

…

Somewhere in the wilderness of Ithilien a sharp scream cut through the silence of the night. Three small birds flew up from a tree, scared by the sudden noise. It was an old tree, tall and slightly withered, its branches almost touching the ground. Two small figures were huddled under those branches, one of them fast asleep. His curly hair had a silver hue in the moon's light, and there was a soft smile on his chubby face. He was a halfling of the Shire, and so was the other.

That was the one who had been screaming. He was shuddering violently and moaning; dark hair clinging to his brow and temples, fingers clutching something on his chest.

Again he screamed, causing the fair-haired hobbit to jump and look around wildly. "Mr Frodo?" he asked and rushed to the other's side. "Frodo, what it is?" he muttered, gently taking Frodo by his shoulders and shaking him.

"Frodo…?" the fair-haired hobbit sounded increasingly alarmed and continued to carefully shake the other halfling.

Frodo did not react; his head lolled limply from side to side; his fingers curled around the ring. Blood came seeping out between them.

"Mr Frodo…it's me …it's your Sam…wake up…" A strangled sound escaped from Frodo's lips, and they turned a ghastly pale blue. Sam put a hand on Frodo's clammy brow. " Wake up, " he whispered lovingly, "wake up, you're dreaming."

There was no answer, but more desperate gasps. Sam's eyes widened slightly. Was Frodo suffocating right before his eyes?

He opened the first buttons of Frodo's shirt to ease his breathing, using his free hand to make Frodo let go of the ring.

They were very close to the dark land now, yet there was still fairly high grass to sleep in and trees to hide under. But the dark mountains were pressing hard on Sam's mood. Their huge shadows were like some lingering dark presence and would have been scary enough if Frodo had been fast asleep well. Now they were almost unbearable. Nothing was alive here, now that Frodo's screams had chased away the birds, which had been resting in the tree.

Most animals could feel the evil spreading from the mountains, and they had left long before. Those who had dared to stay where dead now or had turned evil too.

The mountains seemed to draw nearer, and still nearer, they seemed to grow and closed in around Sam until the normally very brave hobbit felt close to screaming.

When Frodo and Sam had decided to take a rest the long branches of the tree had seemed comforting to Sam. He had fallen asleep soon, feeling sheltered and safe. Now they scared him, did they not look like huge hands bending over his friend and master? Weren't there invisible eyes behind the trees, watching him?  
And what was that behind the bushes? For a moment he thought he had seen a human girl with raven dark hair, clad in white. Frodo gave an exceptionally harsh gasp; his nose started to bleed. Hastily Sam turned around to find a cloth in his backpack, but his fingers were quivering; he did not manage to open it. He used his hands to wipe the blood out of Frodo's face. Again he had the odd feeling of being watched. Chasing away the thought he bent down and kissed Frodo's brow timidly.

" There is something there in the bushes," he said, "but don't you worry, your Sam is with you, and he'll have a look at it." He stood up. " I'll be right back," he whispered and approached the bush, his heart pounding loudly. There was nothing.

"Hullo?" he asked. The answer was thick unbearable silence, only interrupted by Frodo's desperate struggle for breath. Sam turned around abruptly, sat down and took one of his friend's hands, pressing it, hoping in vain for Frodo react.

He was so cold. So very icy cold. Sam rubbed Frodo's hands between his own, but they remained cold and limp.

" I wish I could make a fire," he sighed " But I don't dare. We're too close to the dark land's border…there are too many eyes which could see…" Again his glance travelled up the mountains, hesitating at times. Apparently, all was silent. But it was a nightmarish silence, the silence before a storm.

Frodo was still trembling, even more violently as time went by. His slender hands were shaking.

"Body warmth," Sam murmured, trying to remember what his mother would have done with a cold child. Carefully he slid one hand under Frodo's neck and then put other one under his shoulders, slowly lifting him up to a half-sitting position. Sam's eyes were brimming with tears as he pressed Frodo's dark head to his chest, telling Frodo not to give in, willing him to hold on.

He bit his lips.

He did not know what to do.

And there was nothing he _could_ do, but to be there and to hold his friend close and to hope he would be better when he woke up.

_If_ he woke up…

Sam shook his head. This was not the time to despair. A long dark road lay ahead of them – they could not give in now.

But how was he supposed to stay strong, when he could feel that Frodo was barely breathing at all anymore?

Sam's tears finally spilled over, leaving pallid lines in his dirty face. Sobbing he caressed his friend's face and followed the dark lines of his eyebrows with his fingers; all the time hoping for Frodo to wake up, to withdraw and to say that Sam should not be worried …

Yet nothing happened.

…

Sam tried to stay awake, but he knew he would not be able to. It had been a long day of walking, and he was dreadfully tired.

Even as his eyes dropped closed he held his master tight.

" Hold on," he whispered, already in a ghostly twilight zone between sleep and wake. Then sleep overcame him swiftly, extinguishing his voice as well as his sorrow.

…

It was still dark when Sam could feel Frodo stir. "Mr Frodo?" he asked, and he sighed with relief when his master's eyes fluttered open.

For a second Sam would have preferred Frodo's eyes to remain shut, though. He feared they would no longer be of their friendly ocean blue, but cold and empty, malicious, dead.

"How did you sleep?" he managed to say. "Did you dream? What happened last night? I've been so worried…"

Frodo glared at him in visible confusion. "Dreamed?" he coughed, causing Sam to flinch due to the rattling noise in his chest. "How do you know?"

"Don't you remember, Mr Frodo?" He was still worried. Frodo had obviously had a bad nightmare .Why could he not recall that he had been on the edge of suffocating?

Almost shyly Sam smoothed his friend's curls. " You had some kind of …a fit…"he tried to explain, " it was scaring…I thought I would lose you," his voice was very low " I didn't even now how to help you…and then I fell asleep, and…"

He finished in a voice so sad that it brought tears to Frodo's eyes. He worked himself out of Sam's warm and reassuring embrace, shivering slightly as he had to sit on his own. "Sam," he croaked, " Do you remember the night I told you about how my parents died?" Sam couldn't suppress an almost soundless chuckle. His favourite rabbit had ended up as dinner the same day and while Frodo had been trying to tell Sam about the darkest time in his life, the younger hobbit had been going on about how brave he was not cry because of his rabbit.

Frodo smiled, suddenly looking much younger than he was, in spite of his drained-out expression. " So you _do _remember," he said softly, hesitatingly stretching out a hand to touch Sam.

Something cracked in the darkness behind them. Sam cast a scared glance over his shoulder, but Frodo continued to watch Sam's face as if he had heard nothing. "You do, don't you?" his voice now had an almost pleading quality. Sam nodded. Frodo took a deep breath, his hands clutching the grass. " I trusted you, more than anyone else. I told you about things I did not dare talking about with Bilbo, because I knew you would understand…or at least believe what I was talking about…I told you about that feeling I had in the morning of their dying day. Like somebody breathing into my neck…" he shuddered, staring at the blood that had dried under his fingernails.

" I felt it again tonight," he ended. Sam put his arms around Frodo, hugging him again. Secretly he was relieved that Frodo did not recall anything else…

Yet Frodo's eyes were underlined by such heavy rings, his lips were still too pale and now that morning's first light was casting an eerie shimmer about the forest Sam could clearly make out some large scratches on Frodo's chest.

And what had that been about someone breathing into his neck?

He would get no answer; he knew that. Frodo never talked much about things troubling him, never wanted to bother anyone. Furthermore he seemed to be falling asleep again.

" Sleep," Sam reassured him " I know we should be walking by night but that…_Gollum…_isn't back yet and we cannot go on without him. We'll have to wait. Go back to sleep, Mr Frodo. Be at peace."

Once more his eyes were brimming with unshed tears.

How quickly things had changed!

Not too long ago it had been Frodo who was taking care of everything.

Now Sam had to take care of his friend. Long before he had decided that he would protect his master against anything that threatened to harm him. Yet he had never thought he would ever have to do it. Frodo had always been able to take care of himself; he had always been stronger than he looked like.

Sam stifled a sob and tried to remain silent, leaning against the tree, holding his sleeping friend in his arms.

The sun rose in he east and the grey light changed into green and then into blue and the landscape of Ithilien seemed to fade away until Sam had the impression of drowning again, drowning in the bluish waters of Anduin River.

He yawned and shook his head, but the light did not change.

His arms were hurting; he had been holding Frodo for hours and now he could barely move them. Gently he let go of Frodo's shoulders, and then of his head, and placed him back onto the ground. He took of his coat and formed a pillow for Frodo to rest on. A brief smile lightened his friend's sad features, but it was gone all too soon.

In the still green blue light Sam started to search for a cloth once more. This time he found it and started to clean Frodo's face and hands.

Something made him look up. There was a white shape behind the bushes again. " Gollum?" Sam asked tentatively. It wasn't Gollum. It was the girl again.

"Little girl," he said, "are you lost?"

The girl was gone. Sam returned to clean Frodo's face.

She was standing behind him, reaching out for Frodo. A malicious smile made Her white lips twitch.__

" Get up, sleepy head!" A much too cheery voice raised Sam from his sleep. He was thankful for it, although he could have imagined better ways of waking. Gollum had been pulling on his hair and was now cackling madly. " Get up, get up!" The meagre figure jumped around, grimacing and singing.

Frodo was already awake, and making sure they had left nothing behind.

He smiled when his eyes met Sam's. He did not say anything, but he gave a brief nod, signalising Sam that he was all right.

" Another day of walking," he said.

"And then we will reach the stairs of Cirith Ungol"


End file.
